


Midnight Snack

by Rogue_Mutt



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogue_Mutt/pseuds/Rogue_Mutt
Summary: Another peaceful night on the surface, and another chaotic nightmare for Sans. Not for the first time, the experience sets his nerves on edge, and he needs a quick snack to set himself at ease. But how long can he go on with this invisible burden on his shoulders alone?





	Midnight Snack

**Author's Note:**

> My first post for this site. My original intent was on turning this into a series, though other ideas came in the way later. I may resume this into a series though there are no promises. Meantime, let me know what y'all think in the comments below. I look forward to my time in this community.

When Sans had awoken, he discovered himself clutching to the couch cushion like a life raft. When he came to, he quickly realized he had risen from another nightmare. Yet once again, his attempts to recall any details met with blank images. What he could recall at each time was how he felt whenever they happened: guilty, terrified, furious, sorrowful, and always ended with a solemn disinterest. 

Each time left him feeling completely exhausted, yet ironically made it impossible for him to return to his slumber. This time was no exception as Sans was left tired with echoes of terror and confusion from his recent dream, whatever it was about. He didn’t have much to fall back on whenever he felt down, other than slumber and ketchup. While the former seemed to make him feel worse rather than better these days, the latter was something he could always rely on. 

Unfortunately, Grillby’s was a rather long walk away, even when taking one of his “shortcuts.” Not to mention it would be closed at this hour as well. The sauce might taste best cold in the noisy atmosphere of the diner/bar, but he could accept the inferior store-brand to fulfill his needs. 

One such bottle, he remembered, still remained in the fridge, next to containers of old, stale spaghetti dishes his brother experimented with in a long, forgotten age. His bones ached with the effort, but he eventually got up from the couch, dropping the cushion down on the floor. I’ll pick it up later, he thought. 

He made his way into the kitchen, silently maneuvering like a silly looking specter in the darkness. The fridge cracked open, releasing a chill toward the whites of his bones. He quickly grabbed the bottle before sealing the fridge again, trapping the air inside. 

Sans detected a strange scent which he noticed coming from the bottle. He squinted his eyesockets around the branded label. “Best used by: 5/04.” Four months expired. He shrugged, just cause it wouldn’t be best now didn’t mean it wouldn’t be good. 

Doing what most would call unsavory behavior, he proceeded to drink the expired product the way an alcoholic would a bottle of whiskey. The old sauce had trouble squeezing through the cap and it dripped slowly onto his skeletal mouth. His impatience got the better of him and he uncapped the bottle, discarding the dried cap and holding the bottle over his mouth unceremoniously. Now the stale scent spread to the entire kitchen, almost unrecognizable as ketchup and could easily be mistaken for something far less appetizing. The contents of the bottle slopped onto his skeletal mouth in large, varying chunks. 

Eventually, the descending chunks became smaller, and the bottle was finally empty. Empty at least, as Sans observed, in terms of what liquid was able to escape the bottle. Peering into the bottle closely, he noticed the rest of the ketchup inside was dry, which was a surprisingly large amount. Maybe a tenth of the bottle if not more had an unsavory shape between solid and liquid. 

Seeing there was nothing left for him to drink, he tossed the bottle behind him. The plastic product landed in a dull, partially hollow banging sound on the kitchen floor, almost deafening in the quiet of the house. The sound drew his attention; he turned around, looking down at the mostly empty, dried, expired bottle of ketchup. 

Dried, expired ketchup that he just drank as if it were sweet nectar. 

Better clean up, he thought. Paps won’t let me hear the end of it if he finds out. 

He briefly took the time to pick up the contents of both cap and bottle and properly disposed of the evidence. Happy no one would be able to discover his act of indecency, he grinned with pride. 

Click-Clack!

A sound emits from upstairs, unmistakably the sound of an opening door. Uh-oh, Sans thought. He worried briefly before remembering he had already disposed of the evidence. Though what he would say to his brother was another matter. He shrugged, unworried at the lapse in his strategy. 

Soon after, boots rapidly descended the stairs. In the dead quiet of the night, he could mistake them for a sudden stampede taking place inside his home. Before he could make any more comparisons, his brother stood outside the kitchen, staring accusingly across at him. He stood much taller than Sans as he annoyingly glared down at him, his “battle-body” clinging to his body like a layer of skin: a plastic chestplate with a pair of bright-red gloves and boots, and his equally vibrant scarlet scarf. Compared to Sans’s own plain-white T-shirt, fuzzy pink slippers and sweat shorts, he looked very informal. 

Completely normal, as far as the two of them were concerned. 

“Brother! It’s the middle of the night! What on earth is all the racket about!?” Sans was tempted to comment that at the moment, his brother made more noise in five seconds than he did in recent several minutes. But he refrained from the sly remark. 

Instead, he simply smiled and waved like he usually greeted. “Sup bro.” He pointed at the fridge behind him. “Just wantin to get a midnight snack.” No sense in lying about his intentions, he thought. Though he could exclude mentioning the details of his “snack.” 

Papyrus groaned and rolled his sockets, unamused by his brother’s unbearably casual demeanor. “Sans, and I can’t for the life of me believe I am saying this to you right now, but go to sleep! We have a big day tomorrow!” 

The mention of the next day sounded somewhat familiar to Sans, yet he couldn’t recall what it was. He didn’t want to act like he didn’t know on risk he might further upset his brother, so he replied in a comedic way. “Didn’t realize you were that into hump day.”

Papyrus raised his hands up in disgusted defeat. “It’s Frisk’s birthday tomorrow!” 

Sans almost gasped. That’s right, he thought. He had almost completely forgot. One of his nightmares had nearly made him forget the birthday of the kid. His brother then scratched his chin thoughtfully. “How old is he going to be again?”

Sans thought briefly before answering. “Fifteen.” 

His brother nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin with a gloved hand. Whatever he was thinking of, Sans thought it more amusing to imagine what he was planning rather than asking. When it came to him, one never knew. 

Finally, he snapped his fingers, having found his muse. “I got it!” He paced back and forth as his mind raced with imaginative thought. “I’ll prepare fifteen plates of spaghetti, each with their own unique flavors and ingredients! I’m thinking on making a standard cuisine to start with, but then I reveal the caliber of my culinary mastery! The second one will have grass leaves instead of traditional noodles, but where to find grass long enough to serve as such?” 

Papyrus went on in detail about his plans of entrees and ingredients as they came to his mind, almost immediately becoming lost in them. It was a glorious sight to see, witnessing him talk and act as quickly and specifically as his own thoughts, if not disorienting. Not for the first time, Sans was happy to see his brother so excited. 

But recent memory still haunted him, the nightmare he still couldn’t name or identify. It clawed his thoughts like an open wound begging to be treated. Yet he could find nothing that could ease the wound, so it festered and worsened in ambience, making it impossible for him to ignore. 

Eventually, as his brother went on to detail yet another “exotic” recipe, his feet moved forward before he even decided to leave. “Welp, I’m gonna head outside, take a walk. I’ll be home in the morning.” He strolled past his brother and walked silently toward the front door. 

Papyrus turned curiously back to face his brother, but he was already opening the door before he could inquire. He sighed defeatedly and smiled after him. “Be safe.” He couldn’t help but add to affirm. “And for Asgore’s sake, don’t be late tomorrow!”

“I won’t.” Sans responded as he opened the door. A chill night air, similar to when opening the fridge, gusted inside the house as he opened it. Distant crickets sounded from the environment under a gentle ray of moon and starlight. 

Before his brother could close the door behind him, Papyrus detected something lying on the floor in the living room. “Brother!”  
Sans stopped just before he closed the door. He looked inside questioningly to where his brother’s clenched fists were resting on his skeletal hips. “Did you sleep on the couch again?” He grinned and nodded. “Pick up the couch cushion.” Papyrus paused before adding. “And put it back on the couch.” 

Sans waved affirmation. “I’ll do it later. Night bro.” And he shut the door behind him. Now that he was outside, he wondered where he should go now that he was out. He had pretty good routes he often took back at Snowdin, way back when, but the surface was different. Even after all their time, he still had to get used to being here, where warm places turned cold at different times of the year and billions of stars lighted the night sky. 

He finally decided where he was going to go. “Anywhere but here.” He muttered to himself. 

Satisfied with a destination, he turned right and strolled casually, humming a gentle, familiar tune along the way. 

Papyrus, back home, looked back at the cushion lying on the carpet. He frowned thoughtfully, looking back at the door where his brother had just left by himself. A sad, concerned expression met his face, wishing his brother would share more about his nightmares with him. What could trouble Sans so much that he thought he had to hide it from his own brother?


End file.
